Shiranai Hito
by BananaPropaganda
Summary: After a trip to Kyoto, a certain swordsmaster stumbles upon a fallen young man and takes him in out of 'secondhand guilt.' However, he begins to see that this young man is more of a child...another child to save. NOT slash


A/N—Just messing around a bit, trying to put my two favorite characters in some situation where they wouldn't kill each other. Eh…I started it on a rainy day of my vacation (my uncle got a hold of it and said it was rather depressing…), simply because I was bored and hadn't written in a while. One more thing—the title means "stranger," because I couldn't think of anything better, and everything sounds more interesting in Japanese, ne?

Disclaimer: No profit is coming out of this. If I had that kind of money, I would have a border collie and a swimming pool right now.

Shiranai Hito

Failed. His truth; his whole life's ambition…failed. And with that failure came a list of broken things: his tachi, his glasses, his left ear drum…but mostly his heart.

She still wasn't smiling at him.

To some extent, the whole ordeal could be considered her fault—she just wouldn't smile for him. If she had smiled, his brother-in-law would be rotting away in hell, and all would be well.

How irritating.

Still, he couldn't bring himself to blame his dear nee-san, completely twisting the laws of sibling rivalry. He could never shove what had been his fault onto her.

Upon a week of sulking, he had taken his leave from that rotting, stinking village (only upon nee-san's request; otherwise he probably wouldn't have been able to bring himself to stand up, let alone walk around), not before subtly letting that strangely familiar old man know that he was going with an awkward shake of the hand.

He wasn't quite ready to take off on his own, though, still cursing his former brother-in-law and clutching Tomoe's diary like some mutilated life-line. He had no plans, no form of payment…and he couldn't just walk around in broad daylight with the police strutting around, at least not in Tokyo.

Then his beloved sister gave her advice. And so, following her suggestion even through the hatred, he took it upon himself to mimic his red-headed demon of a brother-in-law—though finding for himself that wandering was harder than it looked; and worse, you didn't get paid for it. It was like a cruel wilderness version of Shanghai…

Well, he would survive. He kept telling himself that, and so did Tomoe, so there wasn't a doubt in his mind that he would make it through, contrary to what his growling belly was saying.

There just wasn't any food in Japan's wilderness. At least, none that would walk right up to him and throw themselves over a magically-appearing fire (he lacked the motivation to actually catch something, even as his sister scowled at him and insisted he do so). For the majority of his aimless travels, he shoved berries (and anything else that didn't run away from him) into his mouth, also managing a fish here and there. Anything that required little to no effort. There were always the rough patches, though, times when he couldn't find a thing to eat.

With some luck, during one of these feastless times he wound up in Kyoto, scouring the streets for scraps like a dog for hours. However, it turned out to be a wasted effort—he only succeeded in getting nasty looks from nearly every citizen he passed, despite his forlorn puppy-dog expression and the obnoxious sounds his stomach were making. It didn't bother him too much—he hadn't wanted their pity anyway—but his complete lack of energy and Tomoe's worried expression did. How long had it been since his last meal…?

Giving up on the pity party and not wanting to draw attention to himself by thieving some food, he headed rather hopelessly for the mountains, thinking that with a bit more luck, he could find something edible in the forests.

Yukishiro Enishi's luck had run out.

An ever-present sake bottle swung smoothly at the huge swordsmaster's side as he made his way back up the mountain to the serenity of his home, anticipating being able to drink alone under the stars after a day in the crowded city.

Looking up at the sky, he estimated the time, before suddenly bristling upon detecting a slight prick of some weak ki nearby. He hesitated to go investigate, especially since he lacked his sword (only scarred, red-headed _bakas _carried swords out in broad daylight in the Meiji), but, sensing how beaten and lifeless this particular ki seemed, he masked his own and began the search for whatever poor creature it was radiating from.

The first thing he saw against the varied colors of the forest floor was a head snow-white hair, which, luckily, was attached to a young man's bruised, beaten, and disgustingly thin body. He was an unmistakable man—just the hair gave it away, not even mentioning the shape of his eyes or any of the other factors that made this particular young man stand out.

Hiko heaved a tremendous sigh. Why did it seem like he was always cleaning up after that baka deshi nowadays?

Pitying the young man, and also feeling strangely as if he were partly responsible, he heaved Enishi over his shoulder and continued to his small cottage, severely pissed at the annoyance, and making a mental note to punish the rurouni next time he saw him.


End file.
